


Why I Hate Incense by Angel Evans

by IAmTheAvengers



Category: The Life and Times of Angel Evans
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Short One Shot, daily life, incense, pet peeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheAvengers/pseuds/IAmTheAvengers
Summary: Angel Evans doesn't like incense. That is literally it. Written for a friend. Enjoy!If you don't know the work, have a link: https://www.thebooksmugglers.com/2016/09/life-times-angel-evans-meredith-debonnaire.html





	Why I Hate Incense by Angel Evans

If there was one thing that Angel hated, it was incense. Or rather, she didn't mind general incense, could put up with the smell that only existed in shops which exclusively sold tie-dyed clothes and healing crystals, but targeted incense she found to be in her top ten slightly irritating things (above bad buskers but below spiritual graffiti). While hippie incense smelled of sage and cedarwood, the kind of incense burned in religious ceremonies and in the hallway of her flat tended to carry the scent of hope, thanks and, worst of all, myrrh. Angel hadn't even known it was a scent until it began to be ritually left outside her flat. On fire. In the end she had to get Yumiko to help her identify the smell despite the fact that Yumiko couldn't smell and was only able to get an answer for Angel by analysing its chemical structure. Except in a far more magical fashion.  
  
Today's gift for Angel included five biting sticks of incense which had filled the passage with a deadly level of myrrh smoke and was making the air in the passage virtually unbreathable. Angel pressed her scarf to her face to help her breathe and was unpleasantly unsurprised to be hit with the pub exclusive smell of beer, smoke and urine. It was still better than the how candles or whatever the hell had drawn the passive aggressive post-it neatly placed in the middle of the pile is offerings with the words “Please Remove-a Polite Neighbour” written on in neatest cursive.  
  
Angel resisted the urge to shoot and instead whispered “no” before pulling a bin bag out of her pocket and dealing with it all. She briefly contemplated setting up an eBay store to sell on her acquisitions and jotted it down on the back of the post-it along with the words “ask Yumiko” underneath.  
  
She dragged the bin bag to the bin then dragged herself back up to the flat, pointedly ignoring both her “polite” neighbour and the small piles of ash on the carpet as they passed in the corridor. With a swift turn of the key and a shoulder barge, Angel was in her flat, and with a kick of the door and a well practised sideways fall she was back on her sofa where she belonged.  
  
Now her only problem was the faint scent of thanks which luckily could be easily erased with a bitter draft. She snuggled deeper into the sofa and called out. “Yumiko?”  
  
“I'm here,” came the voice like the warm drip of a kettle.  
  
“Good,” she sighed, and fell asleep with Yumiko’s voice in her ear.


End file.
